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Tuesday, May 18, 2010

Ma'am, please haul down your skirt....

.... I can see your penis.I should add a disclaimer here that I don't care what people do. I think people should be able to live their lives how they wish, without fear of persecution, and I try not to judge people based on how they look. Not saying there aren't a lot of times that I see someone, and in my head go, 'hhhhhhwwwhhhhaaaaaat??'; all I'm saying is that I won't treat someone differently because of that. Even if I am thinking, but. What? Why? So this is what happened...

(I can't give credit for the picture; I don't know where it's from... but it's lovely).I met a friend tonight for coffee, which was a good time. It was a very nice day, we sat outside, and the coffee was good, and the brownie was delicious, and just before we left, a very tall, very thin lady walked by, and I just saw her back on, but I asked Ro, "Was that a man?""No. I think she was a hooker, though."So while I'm marveling at how skinny this person was, another lady walks by. Considerably more shapely. Considerably larger. Especially in the shoulders. Black wrap dress; blond bob, and I'm thinking, okay, if this is a woman, she must be the one Ross was dating on friends (Don't call her broadback!). Then I saw the shoes: clunky and black, and didn't go with that dress at all. Not to mention, they were quite large. Thankfully, Ro knocked over her tea, so I went inside to get napkins, and these two ladies were standing in line chatting with one another, adam's apples just a-bobbin'. We turned to leave, and there were 3 more of them just on their way in (I don't mean to make them sound like the living dead, I really don't, I'm just not sure how else to describe this); I was getting to my car just as another lady got out of hers.Now. Like I said, I don't care what people do. Whether they were cross-dressers, or transgendered, or maybe just liked a breeze on their doin's, I genuinely, couldn't care less.But I don't understand. I have a job where I wear work boots and coveralls; I dress pretty casually regardless of where I'm going. While I love skirts in the summer, I've never found it comfortable to pile on the jewelery/makeup/undergarments. I do it when it's 'necessary' but if it wasn't what society deems appropriate for certain situations, I wouldn't. The main reason: pantyhose. These were designed by either a sadist, or the devil himself. I can be ready to go, and by the time I've wrestled myself into those, I'm sweating, I'm angry, my hair's a mess, and I've put my thumbs through the thighs. The idea of anyone enjoying this completely escapes me.And also: where do they buy those shoes?I love Halifax.

About Me

Carpenter by trade, seamstress by genetics. Terribly distracted by anything and everything. Will quite likely disappear for large periods of time (from blogland, not from real life). Obsessed with zombies, peanut butter chocolate chip cookies, and the beach, and I hope these are things I never have to deal with simultaneously.